Oh, help. Did I say on Monday that I had a cold? It's so not a cold. It's something noxious, toxic, hideous, horrible. Chills every night for three days, feverish in the morning. Mucus that could seal the sides of a boat, and a nice seaweed color (keeping with the nautical theme). Pain that floats from inner ear to molars to cheekbones to forehead and back again. I've been avoiding drugs beyond Tylenol because of the faint (read: very slim, highly unlikely, virtually nil) possibility of being pregnant. I suppose I should just give up on that hope now, given how ill I've been and how pregnancies don't "stick" very well for me (that's too flippant - believe me, I don't take it flippantly). I certainly don't feel pregnant. I can't feel much of anything below my collarbone.
On the homeschool topic, I am so glad we switched to Homeschool Tracker for planning out our week because so far this week we've done exactly one chapter of Bible reading (followed by fifteen minutes of convulsive hacking) and one math lesson. It's one thing to have sick days because the kiddies are sick, but can Mom call sick days for herself? But, thanks to HST, two clicks and I can reschedule the whole week!
A side benefit. I felt too horrible to worry about Dr. D being off on a business trip! I got to skip the usual late-night-hubby-gone-loneliness, and instead fell into an exhausted, sore, miserable, fitful sleep.
I’ve been quiet here this month, but for good reason! We’ve had a busy and exhausting few weeks. Weeks of waiting, of worrying, of planning and preparing. Finally on Friday December 8th we welcomed our sixth child into the world.
This is our first year working with a partner public school for a few fun educational extras. My favorite addition? The subscription boxes! Sure, foreign language is fun, and art (things the older kiddos are doing through the school), but what's better than your own personal activity kit, new every month? I have a thing for subscription boxes, I'll admit.
We have a gorgeous, absolutely beautiful custom made farm table in our dining area. Beautiful at first glance. Sit down at it however, and try to eat and you’ll discover a few not so lovable details. Like glasses will tip over if placed in just the wrong spot. Your clothing will catch on splinters in the chairs or the edge of the table. Some of the plugs look suspiciously like wood filler. And if you look closely, the gaps between boards just might be packed with yesterday’s (last week’s?) noodles, rice, etc.
Hubby and I recently got serious about taking back our health, and the first question we faced was: “How do we work in exercise?” The conversation went something like this:
Me: We could put the treadmill back in the bathroom?
Him: Um. No.
Me: There’s that gym up by McDonald’s (why is this our reference point? I don’t know.)
Him: But when?
Me: You could go before taking N to school in the morning!
Him: Would you really get up that early?
Me: Are you kidding? We’re talking about you here, not me.
I used to hate read-alouds. My neck would get tense, my throat would feel stiff and sore and my voice would hurt. (And if you say a voice cannot hurt, I assure you, it can.) Here's my story of how diagnosing and treating Hashimoto's changed my life in an unexpected way.
Every year my parish holds a garage sale to raise funds for the VBS and Preschool programs. It has fast become one of my favorite events and helping at every stage, in my mind anyway, absolves me from taking part in the actual VBS. Anyhow, a sale of this size is a huge undertaking. Like crazy huge involving weeks and many, many, many hours from lots of people. But it's so worth it, and apart from the usual reasons about helping others and serving the community, here's why…
A couple days ago I had to Google, “What do middle aged women wear to indie rock concerts?” I came up with lots of pics of denim and leather and high-heeled boots. Not much different than what I expected young women to wear, except fewer backless shirts.
When I picked up my also-middle-aged friend (ok, not really, we're still young! Middle age means, like 79, right?) she was wearing the requisite jeans, tank top, jacket. I'd opted for...
That whoever-with-too-much-time-needs-a-day-job troll who swiped my original blogspot sub domain has added more content. And, as before, the content is mine, taken from the ever useful internet archive.
The beginning is always the same. Middle of the night, a child cries, I listen and hope. Perhaps sleep will return. A fool's hope, I know.
Mud Pie's Flat Stanley returned not long ago, so while the kiddos were asleep with flu and fevers, I took the photos Stan collected and made a little video.